The writings, sayings, and works of one of the most Solomonic individuals to grace history's stage.

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This evening Justice Minotaur spoke to the Assembled Members and Guests of the New Salemite First, Second, and Fourth International Fora on Genealogical, Historical, and Similar Research Topics (AMGNSFSFIFGHSRT) on the subject of different ways his ancestors died. According to publicity for the event, which was held in a repossessed bookmobile, Minotaur learned this information from “family histories, public records, dreams, inscriptions on bathroom stalls, and wire-tapped conversations among long-haul truckers.” Mr. Cornwall was inebriated on expired eggnog and unable to attend the event. Therefore, Lady I. Dorothy Cottonmouth was formally summoned to appear at the event and provide a report by means of “live Tweet.” Her broken report follows:

Ladies & gentlemen I believe what I say will be more interesting-

than what you have heard from your table companions tonight

Oh, the misery of random seating at a formal banquet

Torture and hang me and mail each of my organs to a different principality

But save me from that most vile of hells

[Cottonmouth was applying lip balm at this point and got the salve on her phone. Phone dropped and significant content lost.]

Foxx Whisperhollow … ears fell off and he bled to death

after he put a tin bucket on his head and

kept shouting “STUFF IT, MAESTRO!” for 3 days straight

Lady Bryy Minotaur … gored by a mechanical rhino in

experimental version of Othello

Fresh-C Lymon … fell asleep while climbing a tall tree

Squire Appropriate Hammer … tried to tickle a prediabetic bear

by putting blades of grass up bear’s nose

Dr. Mr. Homer … expired of dehydration in brave effort

to establish that “in scorching and relentless sun, human

will eventually turn into a raisin”

John Grimshaw … threw self from Tower of London

while awaiting execution on charge of “imagining king wearing a pink dickey”

Journal entry, 2/21/14: Mr. Cornwall here must convey the information that Han Solo would probably have preferred to communicate: Calrissian is dead. Traitor (or Trader) Calrissian, thirty-two years of age, was pronounced dead upon examination by Dr. Ryam of Browngland at 12:21 a.m., New Salem time. A coroner, Dr. Coriantumr Cedarbaum-Tubes, arrived shortly after Browngland and performed what he called a “battlefield autopsy” on the buffet table using carpenter’s tools. He gave the cause of death as cardiac arrest. Cornwall did not witness the death because he had gone out to milk the burros as the Olympic broadcast was winding down for the evening. According to statements made to Officer Nondistinguishable Argument by Justice Minotaur and Prior Relationship, Calrissian apparently looked “as healthy as someone looks when you want them to die really bad but you know they are going to outlive you by fifty years–like how Kennedy felt about Castro” but then suddenly clasped his heart as if shot by Apollo’s bow, then thundered to the ground as if his legs had been smitten clean off by Bunyan’s ax. His last words were either “I still like Subway, but what happened to that Jared guy and his huge pants?” or “I had a roommate that we called one-handed Biellmann.”

Interment is scheduled for Wednesday at noon at the Fading Memories Estates. A brief service, consisting primarily of a drum solo, will be held graveside. No enemies of the deceased, please. In lieu of flowers, a gift of cash or animal feed may be donated to the Recently Desegregated Petting Zoo.

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